Beauty is in the eye
by Thick Soup
Summary: "Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder". Someone finds this out first-hand.


_TL:DR: Taking meanings to a possible literal definition, with a bowl of soup._

 _Disclaimer:_

 _You know what, screw the disclaimer._

 _This story is on a bloody site that has_ Fanfiction _in_ _its name._

 _If the lawyers that read this don't realise that, they probably shouldn't be lawyers._

 _I mean, lawyers are supposed to be sharp, right?_

 _On with the story._

 **Line break**

T'was a bright and sunny day.

The birds were singing.

The flowers were blooming.

Some kid was probably being chopped up and turned into mutton somewhere.

I was just walking along the cobbled pavement down in Diagon Alley, minding my own business, enjoying the scenery and shmaz.

The place was bustling as it was wont to do during the period coming up to the reopening of the schools; children were walking around the shops, accompanied by guardians, if any, who trailed behind them, observing their purchases of books, clothes, and other various school supplies; shop keepers were waving at the backs of their retreating customers, sniggering on the inside as they thought about the masses of money they've earned from recently sold overpriced items; hidden death eaters were being normal people, because what else would they do outside the job; a creepy wand maker was being creepy, and all was well.

Then I felt a small, rounded, and hard object hit the back of my head.

Confused, I turned around while rubbing my head to look at the ground, at where I had guessed the object would have landed, and lo and behold, what else would I see there but a potato.

An innocent little brown tuber sat on the neatly paved walkway with its numerous eyes, all of them unseeing, or so I think and thought.

Now even more confused as to who would chuck a little nutritious relative of the Deadly Nightshade at anyone, much less me, I directed my gaze upwards, and there, at the door of the grimey, slimey-feeling apothecary, was none other than the most bedazzling person I had ever laid my eyes upon.

They were beautiful, absolutely ravishing, in the sense that I would have ravished them, right there and then, if it wasn't for the wave of midgets and not-so-midgets and their adult servants between us, and I could feel a tingling in my nether regions as I took in their splendour.

They were looking rather flustered; my enraptured mind went over the possibility of them having ensnared by my own dashing looks, before remembering I had distinctly un-dashing features.

It was during that time, another object, shrouded in black, sailed towards the air and impacted onto my not-possibly-maybe-actually drooling face.

Broken out of my bewitchment, I shook my head before looking down at the mysterious item that had broken the "Imperious Curse" that had so clouded my mind.

It was another potato. That was coloured black. In a fishnet stocking. Sitting comfortably beside it's predecessor.

"Wha?" saideth I, eloquently, as always, turning back up to look, this time not at the epitome of glamour, the reincarnation of Aphrodite, the one blessed by Kedesh-Nanaya, but instead focusing all of my attention, with all my considerable willpower, to discovering the source of the projectile throwing slight-disturbance.

And what I saw, my brain could not comprehend. And what my brain could not understand, my eyes sear into my brain until it understands.

I saw spuds from Ireland of all various colours, brown, purple, green, very green, orange, white and slightly-pink, all hovering around the heir of humanity's aesthetic appeal, bobbing slightly up and down as time passed, unlike my arousal, which I assure you, was completely stable, and at its peak.

Befuddled by the strange sight though I was, I kept my ever-present composure as steady as my libido, and let loose the word, "Wha?", once more from my upper lips.

The avatar of drop-dead gorgeousness seemed to become even more flustered, turning an odd shade of red and making growling noises as they grit their teeth, the enamel crunching together to make a rather peculiar grinding sound usually associated with the extremely rage-filled while restraining anger.

"And that's how I was blinded by beauty."

The Healer stared at the bandaged-wrapped area-of-where-the-eyes-are-usually-located of his patient from across the slightly-rusted metal table.

An awkward silence ensued for a few moments, during which the patient fidgeted slightly.

The moments passed with a speech by the Healer, who gave a touching sendoff comprising of the word, "What."

The patient shifted to a more comfortable position, the metal straight-backed chair squeaking as they did so. "Did you not catch that, Healer? Let me say it again then."

T'was a bright and sunny day.

The birds were singing.

The flowers were blooming.

Some kid was probably being chopped up and turned into mutton somewhere.

I was just walking along the cobbled pavement down in Diagon Alley, minding my own business, enjoying the scenery and shmaz.

"Shut up," said the Healer who had just finished comprehending the tale. "I heard you the first goddamned time."

"Oh." The patient fidgeted a bit more. "Then what..."

"How did that story had to do anything with the fact that you GOT TWO goddamned RADISHES SPEARED THROUGH your godDAMNED EYES?!" the Healer near-well bellowed.

"Well, you see, Healer, while I was blinded metaphorically by that marvelous individual's stunning qualities, if you get what I'm saying, they lobbed two particularly sharp radishes at me retinas, which were impaled via the sheer force of impact and it's resulting forces, causing me to be blind literally."

The Healer stared at his patient for a while more.

"You could have just told me you were too generous with your stares with the wrong person in Diagon Alley, and I would have gotten the point, you know? Like, seriously, for the love of Myriddin, I've told you dozens of goddamned times to Just GIVE me The TL:DR version of events."

"Then you wouldn't have understood the deeper motives and whatnot."

The Healer looked at his beaming patient.

"...you do realise I have to write every one of your words down for official purposes right?"

"Yup. Not easy to miss, with your constant scribbling. Rather distracting, you know."

"...you're deliberately making use of the Hospital's lack of Self-Writing Quills to annoy me, aren't you?"

"Remember, Healers' Oath."

The Healer snarled, took a fresh sheet of parchment out from behind the report he was writing, and scribbled a prescription. which he then thrust at his patient.

"Out." He said in a rather low voice as he pointed towards the door.

"I'm out."

As the patient motioned to get up, they said, "You know, Healer, that growling sound you're making really reminds me of that person I met at Diagon Alley who threw radishes at my face."

"OUT!!!" bellowed the Healer at full volume.

There was another awkward silence for a while as the Healer stared at his patient with murderous intent in his eye while his patient "looked" around.

"Ermmm, Healer? I can't see."

The door slammed open with a bang. Dust drifted to the ground from the ceiling as miniature cracks appeared on the wall from the point where the door impacted it.

"Thank you, Healer."

With that, the patient waltzed out from the room.

 **Line Break**

 _Hoped you liked it._

 _Let's get some things out of the way first._

 _Yes, I called radishes spuds. Yes, I know they are not spuds. The patient was misusing the English language._

 _You might have noticed none of the characters besides the Healer have a moderately fixed gender. You might also have noticed I used the pronoun, 'they', to add ambiguity. Just a little fun-not-so-fun Not-Easter Egg._

 _The working title of this story was 'POTATOOOOOOO'._

 _Kedesh-Nanaya is a sex goddess. The SCP Foundation has a nice article detailing her._

 _Oh, and also, this story was written for a task in the Hogwarts Writing Prompts and Challenges forum. To be specific, task 12, using the alternative prompt, for the subject of Charms, I believe._

 _As an additional thing I recommend you trying, read all the parts the patient says in Jerry Seinfeld's voice. Or any other voice, really. It's mildly amusing._

~Thick Soup


End file.
